


"I don't really like pancakes," he said.

by clearlykero



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Breakfast, Intimacy, M/M, Undefined Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearlykero/pseuds/clearlykero
Summary: Sakusa likes rice in the morning, not pancakes or any other sweet breakfast. He'll eat them, though, since there's no point wasting food. Still— "I don't really like pancakes," he tells Matsukawa anyway.
Relationships: Matsukawa Issei/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Kudos: 13





	"I don't really like pancakes," he said.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ymzk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymzk/gifts).



> prompt was "sakusa/mattsun - casual intimacy". thank you!

"What," says Sakusa, upon exiting the bedroom, clothes and towel in hand. Matsukawa is at the stove, shirt-sleeves pushed up to his elbows ( _they're going to crease,_ Sakusa thinks irritably) and using a spatula to poke at something in a frying pan. He resists the urge to go over and inspect, eyes tracking to the small table where he usually eats. It's already been arranged with a set of his usual plate and cutlery, and the eye-searing neon pink set Komori had given him for a housewarming gift. He has no idea why Matsukawa pulled it from the depths of his cupboards. "Are you cooking?"

"I thought it's the least I could do," Matsukawa replies. He jerks his wrist, and Sakusa realises he's flipping pancakes. There's a stack of them already on a plate next to the stove.

"For what?" Sakusa likes rice in the morning, not pancakes or any other sweet breakfast. He'll eat them, though, since there's no point wasting food. Still— "I don't really like pancakes," he tells Matsukawa anyway, a little confused. He wonders briefly where Matsukawa even got the ingredients, then notices the convenience store plastic bag on the counter and realises Matsukawa must have been out while he was still sleeping.

Matsukawa snorts and flips the pancake again. The muscles in his forearm flex when he does that; Sakusa quickly looks away. "The bath is still hot," Matsukawa says eventually, instead of answering his question.

"I won't—"

"I ran you a new one." Matsukawa slides the pancake on top of the stack, turns off the stove, and comes out of the kitchenette with the plate of pancakes in hand. "Go wash up and come eat." Sakusa hesitates for a moment. Noticing this, Matsukawa puts the pancakes down and gives him a slow smile. "Want me to join you?"

"No," Sakusa says, with extreme distaste. Matsukawa laughs.

"Then hurry back. I have to leave for work soon, do you mind if I eat first?"

"No…" His voice trails off as Matsukawa steps toward him and lifts a hand. He relaxes when fingers brush his sleeve. Matsukawa strokes his hand up Sakusa's arm to rest lightly on his shoulder; Sakusa can feel the heat of Matsukawa's palm through his sweater. His eyes catch Sakusa's and hold them, and there's heat there, too. "Just eat," Sakusa snaps, absolutely not at all flustered, and escapes to the bathroom.

The shower and bath do nothing to calm the erratic beating of his heart, wrenched off guard by Matsukawa's damned pancakes and the fond tilt of his mouth that doesn't make sense. They did have sex yesterday, and Sakusa has the marks on him to prove it, but he doesn't know why that would translate into Matsukawa cooking for him in the morning. Running him a _bath_. Are they doing that kind of thing now? Sakusa brushes his teeth aggressively and ignores the fact that he's rushing through his morning routine in half the time it usually takes.

When he's about to sit down at the table, Matsukawa touches him again— just a fleeting brush of his hand across Sakusa's waist, skin separated by clothing— and Sakusa pauses, waiting. But Matsukawa doesn't linger. His hand returns to prop up his chin again, like nothing's happened. Something about this irritates Sakusa, who impatiently reaches out and slides his fingers into the messy curls of Matsukawa's hair.

"Matsukawa-san," he says.

Matsukawa gives him an innocent look, as if he isn't the worst tease Sakusa's ever met. He has a piece of pancake speared on his fork that he drags around the remnants of syrup on his pink plate, soaking it all up. Sakusa clicks his tongue and lets go. Out of some petty impulse, he takes the opposite seat, pulling his own plate over from where it's been set at the end of the table just by Matsukawa's side. 

"Thank you for breakfast," Sakusa says, because unlike what some people insist he does know how to be polite.

"It was my pleasure." The way Matsukawa drawls his response suggests a different implication that makes Sakusa's ears go hot. He watches Matsukawa wrap his lips around his fork. "I'll make a proper Japanese breakfast next time."

"And leave me to do the washing up again?" Sakusa slices into his stack of pancakes and is surprised to find that they're soft and fluffy as cotton.

"But you like that," Matsukawa replies, setting his fork down on his now-empty plate. Sakusa does like doing the dishes, but that isn't the point. Then he's distracted from whatever the point is by the sight of Matsukawa pulling on the white gloves that he wears for work. He swallows.

"You should wash your hands first."

"My hands are clean." Matsukawa is as flippant as usual about Sakusa's very valid hygiene concerns. It makes him scowl, but his eyes can't tear themselves away from Matsukawa's hands. Matsukawa, clearly aware of the effect he's having, smiles at him again. "I have to go to work now," he says, even as he steps closer to Sakusa instead of the door.

It isn't that Sakusa wants Matsukawa to kiss him, although he tilts his head up and closes his eyes before Matsukawa even fits his hand around Sakusa's cheek. It's just that he's gotten used to it now— even the way the cloth of Matsukawa's glove rasps against his skin is familiar (still, he tries not to think about what the gloves are _for_ ). He hooks a finger in the other man's belt loop, tugging him closer. Matsukawa's mouth tastes comfortingly like sweet syrup and the faintest trace of spearmint from Sakusa's toothpaste, and the longer Matsukawa holds his jaw in place the more Sakusa's body grows liquid with warmth. 

"Matsukawa-san," he sighs, when Matsukawa finally pulls back. "You're going to be late." Matsukawa's thumb is still stroking his cheekbone, and he leans into it absently.

"Mm. Did you like breakfast?"

Sakusa glances at the pancakes he's barely started eating. "Yes," he answers, after a pause.

"Cute," Matsukawa announces, pinching Sakusa's cheek and taking his jacket from where it's folded over the back of his chair. Sakusa glares at him. Ignoring the glare, Matsukawa shrugs his jacket on. "Come to my place after practice."

Sakusa has never been to Matsukawa's place before. It's strange that he lets Matsukawa into his own apartment despite that, but Sakusa is not really interested in unpicking his motivations. Matsukawa's, though, are of interest. "Why?"

At the door, Matsukawa stops with his hand on the doorknob to turn and give Sakusa a very patient look. "Just come over. I'll send you the address of my apartment block later."

There is another pause, and then, abruptly, Sakusa smiles too. "Fine," he says, feeling pleased with himself. "I'm going to clean your room so well you won't even recognise it after." Matsukawa rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind himself without answering, but the smile lingers on Sakusa's lips for a long time.


End file.
